His Angel
by searinox
Summary: He tortures her, pretending to love her and then extracting himself from her life, teasing her with his love, dangling it in front of her like a bottle of water in front of a parched man. To everyone, she is an angel. But to him, she is his angel.


**His Angel**

Summary: He tortures her, pretending to love her and then extracting himself from her life, teasing her with his love, dangling it in front of her like a bottle of water in front of a parched man. To everyone, she is an angel. But to him, she is _his_ angel.

Ginevra Weasley sat at the barstool behind the counter in the new club, The Snake's Pit. Her best friend was the manager so she could get in whenever she wished for free. She'd been taking advantage of that offer so often lately, it was a wonder she had any liver left. And it was all because of him.

She hated everything about him. She hated that damn smirk that she wanted to smother in a kiss. She hated those strong arms that held her so tightly against him beneath the cool sheets. She hated his hair that hung before his eyes in that sexy way (those eyes that she hated becausee her soul was bared before them). She hated absolutely everything that he was, everything he had done, everything he stood for.

She was helplessly in love with him.

She ran into him everywhere. Two days ago she had seen him while in Flourish and Blott's- ten minutes later they'd been having a snog-marathon in the nearest closet, and thirty minutes later he had left without a word, taking with him a little more of her heart (which he probably lost no time in throwing into the nearest trash receptacle).

The day after that, she had seen him outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, and he had looked blankly into her eyes like he'd never seen her before. She hadn't seen the slightest amount of recognition in his silver eyes (those eyes that she hated because they lied so easily about themselves, yet saw every truth about her). Her heart had broken. Her heart had broken so many times, it was a wonder there was enough of it left to devote to him.

A new song began just as Ginny downed her second shot of vodka, and she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder. She didn't turn around. He breathed into her ear, "Dance this one with me." She didn't move. He rotated the bar stool and she was forced to look into those eyes (those eyes that she hated because she saw love in them).

He just looked at her and she just looked at him, and then he moved his hand to stroke the flawless skin along her jawbone. She closed her eyes. His hand swept back her blood-colored hair to embrace her swan-like neck, and her head tilted upward. His hand traveled down to her collar bone and she inhaled, the last of her doubts slipping away. _Yes… she loved him; she was his for all eternity. Hate? What? No, she had always been his, they had always been together, she had been sitting like this forever with his hand running smoothly against her skin forever… she had loved him forever… she would love him forever…_

He effortlessly lifted her from the stool to her feet. They made their slow way to the center of the dance floor, where the throng of people in the popular club hid them from everything and everyone - hid them from themselves. He swung her around so that her back was against his chest, and his nostrils were filled with the scent of her shampoo. They danced together, fitting so perfectly within the curves of each other's body.

They were warming up within, the flame of desire growing from forgotten embers into a blazing inferno. Ginny turned around so that she could see his eyes (those eyes that she loved and had always loved). His lips encased hers and she forgot the crowd, forgot the music, forgot the two vodka shorts that were sitting in her, forgot that she had a corporeal form at all – there was just the two of them.

He apparated them to his bedroom, and she scarcely noticed as he unclothed them. He was getting better and better at this. She lay back on the silken sheets, eyes never opening, while he made the most wondrous pleasures awaken within her. He caressed and kissed and stroked her in her most secret and pleasurable spots, never going too slow or too fast. When he entered her at last, she lost herself in the depths of her lust. The rest of the night was consumed in the blackness of memory.

Draco allowed himself a full-fledged smirk once her climax exhausted her into the deepest of sleeps. It was almost _too_ easy. She was so easy to fool.

When Ginny awoke the next morning, the events leading up to ending up where she was were painfully clear- though what happened afterwards was blessedly shrouded in the fog of memory. She dressed, cursing herself and all that she let him do to her. She apparated back to her flat, with the image of his eyes imprinted into her vision- those eyes that seemed to be smirking at the world, those eyes that never ceased to capture her heart (those eyes that she hated above all else).

Draco was comfortably breakfasting in his favorite restaurant, hiding a smirk as he thought of the girl he could so easily seduce, the girl that would always come back to him the moment he asked, no matter how much she said she never again would. He recalled her image as she lay sleeping the night before. She was so beautiful. Her crimson locks were splayed about the pillow, accentuating her flawless alabaster skin. Her body was so perfectly cast from its mold, with her tiny waist, thin, long arms and legs, and flawless breasts. Most people thought her an angel. But to him, she was _his_ angel.


End file.
